Page 30 of Pick Me

Hey, it’s Kai. Sorry I’ve been M.I.A. work shit. Still want to play?

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk like a goddamned tourist and stared down at my phone, because I couldn’t believe what

I was reading.

It wasn’t even seven in the morning, I was a dozen steps away from CPA, and Kai was texting me .

My stomach clenched. It was go-time. I needed to come up with a breezy response that suggested interest and not obsession.

So basically, I needed to fake it.

A guy behind me sighed heavily as he brushed past me, and I finally regained my city sense enough to move out of the way,

clutching my phone like it was an eel that might slip out of my hand. I flattened my back against the slightly pink facade

of an office building and grinned up at the sun.

It was happening. Finally.

I glanced at the time and saw that I had three minutes before I was supposed to meet Owen at the front door.

I’d arrived to one of our first practice sessions seven minutes late, and he’d responded with “Better late than never, but never late is better.” I’d taken it to heart.

I needed to sort out my response to Kai, and fast.

Shockingly, I didn’t have to cast around for the right words, because he’d made it easy for me.

Hey! Definitely, what works for you?

I stared at my phone for exactly fifteen seconds, and when nothing came through, I shoved it in my duffel. I needed to get

my Owen game face in order before arriving at the front door, because we hadn’t seen each other since the foyer debacle.

Of course Kai had to reach out to me now. Trying to play off the fact that Owen and I had kissed and fought wasn’t going to be easier knowing that the lines of Kai communication were now open.

I wasn’t going to tell Owen about the text. There was no need since his role in my muse plot was essentially done. But how

was I going to focus on the lesson?

Owen was waiting at the door with Marti at his feet when I got there, as usual. I waved and tried to smile normally despite

the swarming butterflies in my gut.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned as he held the door open for me, observant as ever.

You mean aside from the fact that your hand was in my underwear less than a week ago, and now we have to pretend that it didn’t happen?

“Why would you think something’s wrong?”

Marti gave me an obliviously happy hello, but it did little to lighten the mood.

I stepped past him and tried not to inhale, because he always smelled more Oweny first thing in the morning, when his hair was still a little damp from the shower. He’d taken to leaving his hat off during our lessons, which to me felt like the equivalent of seeing a priest without his collar.

Owen shrugged. “You just look stressed. Anything I should know about before we get started?”

It had become his go-to question at the beginning of our sessions, to quickly find out if I had any aches or pains, but this

time it felt like he was psychic and prying for proof of his abilities, as if he knew something had gone down with Kai a few minutes prior.

I followed behind him, resigned to keep Kai’s name off my lips. “Nope, all good.” The squeaky echoes of our footsteps filled

the silence. “Unless there’s anything else we should talk about... from the weekend.”

“Nothing more to say,” he said quickly without turning to look at me.

It was true; he’d made his feelings about the kiss clear.

He walked Marti back to his office while I waited in the lobby, just like every other session. But this one felt like there

was a haze of smoke around us, clouding my vision and making it a little heard to breathe.

I was responsible for the bad vibes. We were in an awkward hinterland because I was complicated and needy, and I’d somehow

telegraphed my attraction to Owen while spouting off about how badly I needed Kai.

Yeah, I’d fucked up.

Owen came out of the office with his eyes glued to the ground, like he was checking just how clean the deep clean had made the floor.

We headed for our court without discussing our goals for the session, which was odd because Owen was all about hitting benchmarks.

I almost felt like I was being punished for the kiss that he initiated.

And I’d wanted.

He stalked to his side of the court, spinning his paddle in his hand. “Sign-ups for the tournament just opened. We’re going

to take care of that this morning before you leave.”

My heart lurched at the “we.” Despite his frustration, he was still looking out for me.

“Okay, thanks.” I welcomed more time together to try to find the old Owen.

“ Shit ,” he said as he slapped his paddle against his thigh. “Hold on, I forgot something.”

I kept busy stretching and stressing as he walked away.

Owen ambled back to me a few minutes later like we had all the time in the world. I peeked at him while I balanced on one

leg to stretch my right quad but couldn’t see what he’d gone back to fetch. I switched legs and turned a little, so it wouldn’t

look like I was staring at him.

“I got this for you.”

I refocused on Owen as he pulled a second hidden paddle from behind the one he was holding and handed it to me. Compared to

my cheerful pink-lemonade paddle, the sleek blackness he was offering me looked like a weapon.

My mouth dropped open as I took it from him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I couldn’t have you repping CPA at the tournament with that shitty paddle of yours. You need to get used

to playing with it over the next couple of weeks.”

I bit the inside of my cheek because I felt my eyes welling up at the unexpected gift. How long ago had he bought it? Given our crap current scenario, he could’ve skipped giving it to me and kept it or returned it. Despite everything we’d been through, he still wanted to help me win.

I sensed the difference in the paddle the second I curled my palm around the handle. The ergonomic grip felt like it was bespoke.

The paddle was black on black, with a shaded repeating box pattern on the hitting surface. It was serious, elegant, and 100

percent Owen.

“This feels expensive,” I said, giving it a few test swings through the air.

I didn’t mean to be funny, but it got a chuckle out of him. “You’re right—it is. But I get a pro discount, so don’t worry

about it.”

I didn’t think I could feel any worse about everything, but the unexpected gift proved me wrong.

“Owen, thank you.” I stared at him and hoped my eyes weren’t too misty, because it felt silly getting choked up over a pickleball

paddle. “You’re setting me up to be unstoppable.”

He shook his head, the dark waves dancing at the back of his neck. “It’s a tool, Brooke. It’s all about how the operator uses

it. Let’s get out there and give it a try. Paddles are a personal decision, but I know how you play. I’m pretty sure you’re

going to like it. And I bet your backspin is going to shape up, big-time.”

I hypergripped the paddle, just like the old days, because I needed to feel some sort of anchor.

“Today we’re focusing on reset shots,” he said as he fished a ball out of his pocket and retreated to his side of the court.

“Newbies usually get worked up during their first competition, and this strategy is an easy way to take a breath. It’ll help

to neutralize the other team’s aggressive shots.”

I felt like my whole life could use a reset.

I tried to focus as Owen went on to describe the proper grip (soft, no surprise there), paddle position, swing path, and target, but all I could think about was how mechanical he sounded as he coached me.

It felt like I was any old student who rolled in off the street for a lesson. He could’ve been reading from a manual.

I wanted to go back to the way we used to be.

Still, we were yoked together until the tournament, and if I wanted to do at least passably well, I needed to drink in every

fake, unused lesson. After all, I wanted to make him proud. To show him what a difference he’d made in a dork with two left

feet.

Although if I was honest with myself and sidestepped modesty, my new paddle wasn’t the only weapon in my arsenal. The reset

shots I consistently managed were good enough to almost unearth the old Owen. He looked impressed but not surprised.

He seemed challenged by my game.

By the time we finished, we were both sweaty.

“Okay, let’s get you signed up,” Owen said after he drained half his water bottle.

Yeah, I was ready, without any hesitation. I wasn’t nervous about the tournament; I was excited .

I followed him behind the front desk to his office, a new space for me to scope out. After greeting Marti, I surreptitiously

eyeballed every wall and surface in the place, only to discover that it offered zero clues about Owen aside from a box filled

with power cords and a couple of thank-you cards perched behind his laptop.

Would I end our time together with a card too? The idea of it made me preemptively sad.

“I’m signing you up as ‘needs a partner,’ right?”

I paused. I hadn’t even considered that part of the equation. “Well . . . can’t you be my partner?”

I realized it was a stupid question the moment I said it.

“Different skill levels,” he reminded me.

As if I could forget.

Owen explained that the tournament was double elimination, which meant that even if my TBD partner and I lost our first game,

we’d still have a second consolation game to play.

“I wish the timing was a little earlier, because my brother’s visiting this weekend and he’d be the perfect partner,” I said.

Owen looked up from his laptop. “The one with Barnham?”

I nodded. “Yeah, my one and only sibling. He wants to play with me while he’s visiting, so I figure we’ll go to Jimmie McDaniel

and goof around.”

“Supposed to rain on Saturday,” Owen said. “Play here.”

My heart fumbled at his nonstop generosity, but I didn’t feel like I deserved it any longer. I started to manufacture an excuse,

but he interrupted me.

“I’m serious,” he continued, like he could read my mind. “Depending on what time you want to come, I’ll play with you guys.

I love Barnham; it would be cool to meet him. It’ll be easy to find a fourth.”

So Owen was a fan . Playing with us would be partly for him.

“I’d love that.” I beamed at him, envisioning how well he and Wes were going to get along. “Thank you.”

I made a mental note to tell Wes to bring a Barnham stadium shirt for Owen.

“Let me give you my credit card for the registration,” I said as I shuffled through my bag.

He slapped his laptop closed. “Too late, all good.”

I froze. “ Owen. Come on, why did you do that?”

His eyes were snagged on mine as he seemed to weigh what he was about to say. “Because it’s my turn to call in a favor.”

I squinted at him, unsure what he meant.

Owen leaned back in his chair, watching me with an unblinking stare. “I drafted the full chapter outline for my book, and

I want you to read it.”